


Titanium castles, Iron labyrinths

by timepressed



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (more like teen murder but minors are minors), Ace Attorney AU, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxious Toby Smith | Tubbo, Blood and Injury, Character Study, Child Death, Child Murder, Cigars, Co-Written, Co-workers, Crime Scenes, Crimes & Criminals, Crying, Dave | Technoblade and Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Double Kidnapping, Drinking, Enemies to Friends, Family Dynamics, Fist Fights, Forensics, Friends to Enemies to Friends, Gen, Gen Work, Gun Violence, Gunshot Wounds, Happy Ending, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Investigations, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Kidnapping, Law Enforcement, Lawyers, Mentioned Dave | Technoblade, Minor Character Death, Murder, Murder Mystery, New York City, No shipping, Older Sibling Wilbur Soot, Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Platonic Relationships, Serious Injuries, Shooting, Shooting Guns, Smoking, Swearing, Teen Years, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit Friendship, Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit are Siblings, Workplace, comedic relief, not really AA but a lot of the character roles and imagery are similar, teen kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27995661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timepressed/pseuds/timepressed
Summary: “I care about them, you know,” Schlatt said to nobody in particular. He took a deep swig of his flask, handing it back to Wilbur.“It sure as hell doesn’t seem like it,” Wilbur replied.“That’s because you never care about your surroundings. Or the people in them,” Schlatt said grimly.The two sat in silence, the alcohol doing nothing to stop the screaming in their minds. They had mere hours to find them, and trying to do so alone was out of the question. Of course in the most dire of moments the killer would force them to work together.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this work is being worked on also by @bishoujomia on twitter and @jamescraftin on twitter! my twitter is @timepressed_ !

The night was already beginning to fall outside the office window. Wilbur turned his head half-heartedly to stare at the slowly fading light of the sun passing below the horizon. The sphere itself was already gone but it still emanated a residual light, as if hesitant to give itself over to the darkness of nightfall but knowing it was powerless to do anything. Wilbur huffed a small laugh, thinking that he and the sun weren’t that different in that respect. Clinging to a last hope even when to everyone else it would seem that all hope is lost… 

He turned reluctantly back to the mess of files on his desk. He had been combing through them almost all day in prep for his next court trial. It was scheduled a few days from now and Wilbur still couldn’t wrap his head around all the evidence Phil had given him. Trying to make sense of crimes can feel like an impossible task, especially when you don’t know your killer and only your suspect. Wilbur knew his suspect was innocent though, he looked like he could barely hurt a fly even if he really wanted to. He sighed roughly, running a hand up his face, through his hair and ending its journey with it sticking up in the air as his head smacked into the desk, his cheek acting as protective padding to soften the blow. From his new angle he glanced at the little digital clock he had sat atop a bunch of file folders. The harsh green glow read 9:03 PM; he had been in the office since, like, 3 o’clock in the afternoon. He pushed back in his rolly chair and stretched his arms above his head, a few joints popping and cracking as he twisted and groaned, trying to work out all the kinks in his body before packing up to leave. He felt like it was going to be a long ride home tonight. 

“Tommy, I’m locking the place up,” Wilbur called, trudging sleepily out of his office and into the front seating area. He turned towards the couch, illuminated by the blue glow of the TV, where Tommy had passed out for a few hours while Wil was still working. As much as he would have liked to let Tommy keep sleeping, he knew he couldn’t just leave the kid alone in his office the entire night. Not only would that be unsafe, he’s sure that the building management staff wouldn’t be too happy about finding a grown child passed out on the sofa of an attorney’s office. He began to gently prod him in the arm.

“Tommy, wake up, I can’t leave you here by yourself,” Wilbur said.

No response.

Wilbur prodded him a little harder, still no response.

“Alright, you asked for it…” 

Wilbur knelt down to be on level with the couch, dropping his briefcase at his side. Rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt for dramatic effect, Wilbur hooked his hands on to both of Tommy’s sides and began tickling him relentlessly. Within mere seconds the blonde child had begun to laugh and screech, kicking and flailing his arms wildly to get Wilbur to stop his tickle onslaught.

“Stop, stop! Wil I’m awake, stop it!” Tommy screamed out, grabbing Wilbur’s hands and shoving them off of him, sitting up on the couch and trying to catch a breath.

“Thank god, I thought you had died in your sleep,” Wilbur said, laughing a little to himself.

“Yeah, yeah, and _you_ almost gave me a heart attack,” Tommy bit back, no malice in his tone. He got up and yawned loudly. It sounded more like a bellow than a yawn in Wil’s humble opinion, but he had already commented on that before.

“What time is it anyway? How long was I out for?” Tommy asked, blinking away the residue in his eyes.

“It’s a little over 9 right now. You were out for, what, like, 3 or 4 hours? We gotta go, though, most of the other people in the building have probably cleared out by now.”

“Damn, really? Can we at least get something to eat on the way home? I’m starving,” Tommy said, and as if on cue, his stomach rumbled and growled viciously. Both Wilbur and Tommy burst into a bout of quiet giggles and snorts, slowly making their way out of the office.

* * *

“So you said you wanted McDonald’s, right?” Wilbur asked Tommy, opening up a delivery app on his phone. Tommy had said he wanted burgers for dinner and who was Wilbur to disagree. McDonalds was probably the cheapest food option they were going to get anywhere and Will still needed enough money to pay rent for his dingy little apartment.

“Yeah, just get me a quarter-pounder and some fries -”

“Hey guys! Wait up!” came a cry from down the hall. The sound of familiar loafers clacked quickly down the tile floor of the main lobby in their direction. Both Wilbur and Tommy turned to see the source of the noise. It was Tubbo, a little dishevelled and tired, running to meet them as they were about to exit through the revolving door. 

“Tubbo? Why on earth are you here so late? Where’s Schlatt?” Wilbur asked incredulously. He might be able to understand the reason why Tubbo was still in the building but surely he must have been with Schlatt while he was here? He knew well enough that management wouldn’t permit a teenager to be in the building on their own.

“Oh yeah - _huff_ \- I was just - _huff_ \- sorting some papers for him. He said he’ll be staying in the office for much longer and wanted me to get home safe - _huff_ \- so he called Phil and told him to pick me up,” Tubbo panted out in between breaths of air. 

“Yes, but why the hell would he have you sorting papers for that long? It’s already past nine, you should probably be at home winding down or something,” Wilbur said, getting progressively more aggravated – not at Tubbo, but at the slimeball who made him stay so late just to do his busy work. 

“To be fair, Tommy stayed with you just as long as I stayed with Schlatt-”

“Yes but Tommy passed out sleeping for half of the time that _I_ was working. Schlatt on the other hand probably had you working your ass off all day lugging papers around for him like some kind of busboy. It’s ridiculous!” Wilbur exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration.

“Well, can’t do much about it now, I suppose…” Tubbo said, looking down at his feet and sighing softly. It pained Wilbur to see the kid get worked to exhaustion at the hands of the ruthless American. Schlatt was known in the industry for his cutthroat way of handling cases and his typical sleazy businessman attitude. He always got his guilty verdict and it was clear to Wilbur that the upcoming trial will be no different. Schlatt, under regular circumstances, would have already been out of the office by a much more reasonable time, having finished up his work quickly and efficiently. He made it a priority not to waste time, hence why he took Tubbo under his wing. He made the kid into his personal servant, checking evidence while he looked through case files, sorting any loose papers while he looked through suspects’ records, and making him do most of the less important work that Schlatt would rather not do himself for the sake of saving precious time. Most people around the office weren’t very keen on the way he treated Tubbo either but couldn’t say that it was child labor as Tubbo was of legal age to work and was getting paid for his time. Of course the pay wasn’t much since he was just an “apprentice” so to speak, but it was enough to keep people from filing any major complaints. Wilbur felt nauseated just thinking about it.

Wilbur and Tommy shared a knowing look. Wilbur gestured to Tubbo silently and Tommy nodded frantically.

“Say, Tubbo, how would you like to spend the night with us? Tommy suggested we order burgers for dinner so you two can stay up and watch shows before going to bed if you want. That sound good?” Wilbur offered, smiling warmly.

Tubbo looked up at him and Tommy, his gaze going between the two in disbelief. His eyes lit up and he smiled wide. 

“Yes!” Tubbo exclaimed, rushing Wilbur and hugging him tightly, knocking the breath out of his lungs. 

“Okay okay- hey could you loosen your grip a bit? Can’t breathe over here-” Wilbur managed to wheeze out before Tubbo let go. He breathed a deep breath before continuing on.

“Tell you what Tubbo, since Schlatt already called for Phil to pick you up, why don’t we all just hitch a ride together? I mean, I’m sure he won’t mind me and Tommy coming along,” Wilbur said.

“That’s actually not a bad idea, but wait, don’t you usually take a bike?” Tubbo asked.

“Yeah, I do, but the weather’s awful today and I didn’t want to get drenched on the way to work so I just called an Uber,” Wilbur replied. The weather had been quite atrocious the past few days and it honestly made Wilbur wish he had a driver’s license. If the weather kept up, he would be in debt by the time his rent was due.

“Ah, makes sense. Oh, wait!” Tubbo exclaimed, reaching into his back pocket and looking for his smartphone, which buzzed loudly in his hand, “It’s Phil! He must be outside now!” he said, answering the phone and quickly moving towards the double doors. Wilbur and Tommy naturally followed suit, exiting the building into the dark, damp street, illuminated only by the gritty light of the street lamps towering overhead. A few cars still remained parked on the side of the road outside of the office building, likely belonging to some of the other attorneys or prosecutors that were still working late. Of course, Schlatt’s car wouldn’t be out here with the rest of them. Knowing him he would have parked it in the building’s below ground parking lot, reserved only for more high-ranking officials. _God forbid he let the thing get drenched standing outside all day, he wouldn’t know what to do with himself_ , Wilbur thought to himself as he stared blankly out at the road. A shrill honk snapped him back to reality as a large, black mini-van pulled up at the curb. The passenger-side window rolled down and revealed a man with shoulder-length blonde hair and a green and white bucket hat looking at the three of them. That would be Phil, the head detective at the local police precinct and the one gathering evidence for Wilbur’s newest case. 

“Tubbo told me you two were coming along for the ride. What a stroke of luck that is for you, Wil,” Phil said, snorting a laugh. The thing about Phil that most people didn’t know was that he was actually Wilbur and Tommy’s adoptive father. He had taken the two boys off the street in their teenage years and has entertained them with stories of crime and investigations ever since. His influence played a big part in why Wilbur even became a defense attorney in the first place. That and when he did become one, he essentially got a first-rate access pass to all evidence he ever needed for a specific case. Under normal circumstances, he would have to sniff it out himself, but with Phil’s help he saved himself hours and hours of fruitless searching. 

“Yes we get it, I’m a poor trash boy, get better material,” Wilbur scoffed in mock annoyance as he clambered into the passenger seat. He couldn’t hide the grin creeping up his features no matter how hard he tried. Phil always managed to make him laugh even when he tried to put on a serious face. Anyone who’s ever been around Phil would know he has that distinct effect on people.

“I’ll get better material when you get more money, broke boy,” Phil countered, reaching a hand out to ruffle Wilbur’s mussed curls. Wilbur relented and started giggling while they waited for Tommy and Tubbo to pile into the backseat.

Once everyone was buckled in Phil started the car and drove down the street. It was almost entirely black outside Wilbur could barely make out the faint figures of people walking down the narrow city streets of New York. Wilbur still remembered the first time he set foot in the big city and how, almost immediately, he was struck with vertigo. When he first saw Times Square he was in awe at how far the buildings stretched into the sky, understanding why they aren’t exaggerating when they call them skyscrapers. He had remembered his first few delirious nights in the city, eating subway station pizza - which was actually quite delicious - off of greasy white paper plates and getting shitfaced in local bars with his best friend. Half of the time he was still trying to recover from jet lag and deal with the workload of studying for his law degree. It was still a miracle to him how he survived the ordeal of law school crashing at his friend’s apartment for the whole time just so he wouldn’t have to pay extra for room and board. 

Wilbur leaned his head against the window, the warmth of his skin creating fog where it met with the cold glass. He closed his eyes and listened to the idle chattering of Tommy and Tubbo in the backseat, likely talking about life outside of the law offices. The car stopped and Wilbur felt a hand being placed on his shoulder, jostling him lightly out of his reverie. He righted himself and looked over at Phil who was smiling gently. He could read Wilbur like an open book and Wilbur couldn’t care less. It was nice to have someone who understood and made sense of all the complex thoughts swirling in his head, like a personal sorting algorithm. Phil was his calm in the eye of a hurricane and Wilbur knew he could always come to him for guidance and comfort. It never had to be verbal or physical; it could be as subtle as a specific look, a pat on the back or shoulder, a ruffling of hair, a small laugh. Phil was his safe space and Wilbur was glad that he still had that even now that he was providing for himself.

“Boys, we’re here!” Phil called to the two teens in the backseat as he pulled up to the entrance of Wilbur’s apartment building. The trio piled out of the mini-van, each saying their goodbyes to Phil. Tommy and Tubbo ran ahead to get into the lobby but Wilbur lagged behind.

“I’ll see you at the trial, son. You’ll do just fine,” Phil said.

“Thanks pops, I’m sure I’ll pull something out of my ass as per usual,” Wilbur said, him and Phil laughing heartily.

“Get inside, you git, you’re getting the seat wet,” Phil said, still shaking with laughter. Wilbur closed the passenger-side door and waved goodbye as the van peeled off of the curb and back onto the road. He ran inside the lobby to join the two rascals, leaving his melancholy thoughts outside on the rain-drenched streets.

* * *

It was about 11 pm; Tommy and Tubbo were both passed out on the couch, McDonalds debris strewn about the carpet in front of the living room TV. Moonlight peered in through the miniscule crack in the blinds, providing enough light to make out the vague figures of the furniture and everything else around the room. Wilbur, however, had abandoned the living room a while ago, quickly finishing his meal and going to work in his bedroom. Of course, when he no longer heard the voices of the two rowdy boys, he had gone back in to check on them, turning off the TV and draping them in some extra blankets he had tucked away in his dresser drawer. He was calmed by the notion that they were both safe in the room over, both under Wilbur’s watch, protected from any dangers of the night even if they didn’t know it. 

Wilbur’s own room wasn’t exactly as serene as the living room was. The dim light of a small desk lamp illuminated the wooden surface, which had various papers scattered over it, almost entirely covering Wilbur’s workspace. On the right hand side was a rather sizable stack of thick books, relating to law and court rules among other topics. If one were to look closely they would even see a few documents sticking out from between the pages of the books, acting as placement bookmarks because Wilbur was too lazy to shred old documents. On the left hand side was a pile of orange company-standard file folders, some filled to the brim with papers and others being noticeably leaner. It was Wilbur’s rather chaotic way of organizing all the files that related to specific cases, labelling the folders with sharpie pens which he kept in a little mug Phil had given him when he was younger. Now he used it more as a paperweight rather than something out of which to drink. It acted as a source of encouragement whenever he was feeling hopeless.

The mug clinked as Wilbur dropped one of his many pens into it, yawning loudly and rubbing his tired eyes. Staring at page after page of legal gobbledegook was starting to give him a headache. Luckily he secured a free day for himself the next day so he can sleep in and calm down before the trial. It kind of felt like he was studying for a standardized test and employing all the calming techniques his tutors and counselors suggested. _History repeats itself, as they say_ , Wilbur thought, changing into some comfortable sleepwear and hurling himself onto the bed, giggling lightly at the absurdity of the action. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling himself getting lost in his own thoughts as sleep slowly overtook his body.

But while Wilbur was already quickly being tossed into the arms of Morpheus, his rival was still back at the office, desperately trying to reach a line that had been dead for what felt like ages. He had called maybe more than ten times, he was starting to lose track. His mind was delirious from exhaustion but his body refused to give in as the strong burn of alcohol in his chest forced him upright and awake in his desk chair. He gritted his teeth, growling quietly to himself out of annoyance. _Bastards really want to play coy with me at this time, on this day.._

“Pick up you fucking pricks or I’ll find you myself and beat you to a bloody pulp,” he called into the receiver before slamming it back down into its slot. He didn’t care about being loud or reckless, everyone else on his floor of the office had left at much more reasonable times. As if to punctuate his thought, he slammed his head against the polished wood surface, groaning loudly out of frustration. He had stayed in the office all day just to make this call and by this point, he was very much considering risking it all and walking out of the godforsaken building and back home, to a nice plush bed where he could rest. 

Just as he began dozing off into pleasant thoughts of rest and relaxation, the phone began to ring almost violently. The sound felt louder than usual; perhaps it was because his mind was fuzzy, perhaps it was because he was a little tipsy, he didn’t care. He yanked the phone from its slot, answering automatically.

“Quite bold of you to leave such a crude message. You certainly are feisty when you’re this exhausted,” the voice on the other end called impishly. He froze where he sat; it felt like a million eyes were piercing his back through the wall-length window behind his chair. Clenching his teeth, he pressed onwards. _No backing out now._

“It was quite bold of you to make me wait so damn long for this call. If I knew any better, I would say you would prefer me to be inebriated for this conversation.”

“You certainly are smart, in more ways than one.”

“Well, a person doesn’t become a top prosecutor by sitting around and twiddling their thumbs. What do you want from me now?” he asked, sighing to himself.

“What I want… is the boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Not Guilty!”

Cheers erupted from the jury. Wilbur sighed in relief and looked over at his defendant at the witness stand. Wilbur’s client, Karl, was originally arrested on suspicion because he had a rather close relationship with the criminal - a man by the name of Sapnap - but insisted he had no knowledge about anything that he had done. Wilbur was skeptical until he had met him at the precinct, where he was sobbing behind the glass divider. He was quick to find out that the man was rather sensitive and a tad over-dramatic, but Wilbur didn’t let that hinder his progress. Regardless, the trial was won and the criminal was finally behind bars.

Once all the noise had died down, Karl walked quickly over to Wilbur, eyes shining both with tears and joy.

“Mr. Soot, I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. I thought I was doomed before you came to defend me!” he cried, more tears flowing from his puffy eyes.

“Of course Karl, I would hate to have seen you been wrongfully convicted, especially for such a scummy crime as that,” Wilbur said. Sapnap had been kidnapping kids from rich families and keeping them as hostages until they paid large sums of money for ransom. Wilbur was sure that he was connected to a larger criminal web but unfortunately, that wasn’t his department.

Karl smiled ear to ear, happy tears rolling down his reddened cheeks as he grabbed Wilbur’s hand, shaking vigorously. Wilbur returned the energy and waved goodbye as his now-former client walked out of the courtroom. Tommy, who had flopped down on the defense stand beside him, groaned. He turned his head from where it had been facing down against the hardwood and looked Wilbur dead in the eyes.

“Wil I’m hungry, that trial took fucking ages,” Tommy whined.

“You’re always hungry; and if you keep asking for food every 20 minutes I’ll have a hole in my wallet as deep as the Marianas Trench,” Wilbur bit back, grinding his teeth in mild agitation. Tommy had been silently nudging and pulling at the corner of Wilbur’s suit jacket throughout the trial, gestures that he knew very well meant he was hungry but knew he couldn’t interrupt the trial proceedings. In as tough a trial as today’s was, Tommy’s nagging was not beneficial to Wilbur’s nerves in the slightest.

“Fiiinne, I’ll go see if Phil can buy me something. I’ll be in the lobby,” Tommy drawled, sauntering out of the courtroom. Wilbur sighed and began to pack up all his files. Courtroom gesticulating did not help the mess he created so it would take him longer than usual to get everything neat and tidy.   
  


He heard a slight rustling echo throughout the empty courtroom, coming from the prosecutor’s stand. Wilbur knew it was Schlatt, sorting his files and packing them into his briefcase the same way he was. He glanced at him over the rim of his glasses just to find that he was looking at him as well. He was sheathing some heavily annotated documents back into an orange folder, eyes blearily moving back to his current task. He seemed tired, unfocused, and… concerned? Wilbur could see the tell-tale knitting of his brow whenever he was worried, eyebrows arching upwards just slightly. Schlatt was desperately trying to hide it, and failing miserably. 

As if on cue, Schlatt clicked the clasps shut on his black leather suitcase, snatching it and walking out of the courtroom without a word, seemingly in a rush. Needless to say, Wilbur was entirely caught off guard. He had never seen Schlatt so expressive, to him at least. What on earth could he be so concerned about? Something must have happened for him to be acting this unusual. Wilbur breathed deeply, feeling a familiar ache in his chest. It was about time he headed home as well.

Upon exiting the courtroom, Wilbur was greeted with the usual lot. Phil was standing beside the lobby couch, sipping a large cup of Starbucks coffee while Tommy sat and munched idly on a sandwich. No surprise that he actually did bug Phil to buy him something to eat, but at least it gave Phil an excuse to get caffeine in his system. When the older man acknowledged Wilbur’s presence, he slung an arm around his son’s shoulders, ruffling his hair with his knuckles.

“You did great in there, kid. Didn’t I tell you you’d be fine?” Phil said, an edge of smugness to his tone almost as if to say “I told you so.”

“Yes, yes you did. Guess I should listen to your encouragement more, it’s a good luck charm,” Wil answered.

“Ah ah, don’t jinx it. It only works if you keep deflecting it just so I can say “I told you so”,” Phil laughed, using his arm to bring Wil in for a sideways hug. He looked over at Tommy, who was staring at the two of them.

“You aren’t getting out of this either runt, come here and give your old man a hug,” Phil said, opening his other occupied arm out enough to give Tommy room alongside Wilbur’s tall, lanky frame. Tommy relented, scrunching up the empty paper sandwich bag and coming in to wrap his arms around his father’s side.

“Both of you did great. At this rate, you two will become a first-rate law firm. Might wanna consider hiring more attorneys though, Wil,” Phil jabbed at the older, squeezing the two boys as best he could before letting them out of his grip.

“On what money, Phil? I would have to pay them something and I barely have enough to pay rent-”

“We get it, man, you’re practically in poverty. Well, I have to go do some work down at the department; a new case popped up just a day ago and we have most of the force working on it now,” Phil said, an air of finality in his voice.

“Is it anything related to this one?” Wilbur asked.

“Yeah, same basic kind of crime, kidnapping and forcing families to pay a ransom-” Phil briefly motioned for the two boys to follow him. He led them into an empty waiting room, locking the door behind him. Clearly this information was only available to the police force at the moment, so openly speaking about it in the lobby would likely not be for the best.

“They’re still kidnapping the kids, but they’re getting more and more violent, a few cases have already involved murder if the ransom was not paid within a period of hours - first responders weren’t able to get there on time before the criminal fled. We have suspects but we don’t have any solid leads to get to the end of this. Hopefully one of these cases goes to the courts so someone can be convicted, but until we make an arrest that can’t happen,” Phil ranted. He paced back and forth across the room, agitated at the thought of the case. He was thinking out loud again, as he tends to do with stressful cases such as this. Wilbur knew well enough situations like that were never easily handled. The criminals always have the upper hand when alone with a hostage: their actions aren’t guaranteed and their promises are almost always lies. Out of fear, people make the logical leap that when a criminal promises something they will act on that promise, failing to understand that they have no control over the situation. It’s sick and twisted and cruel, but sadistic people like that thrive off of the total control they possess, toying with their victims the same way a person plays with their food.

“If anything pops up or if any arrests are made, refer me to them. I know this rabbit hole goes deeper than just that Sapnap guy, there’s surely a connection,” Wilbur said, voice shaking with anticipation.

“Oh, of course there’s a connection. We just need to find the criminal and start making arrests. Actually, do you want to come down to the crime scene? Maybe it will be of use to you in future trials,” Phil said.

“I’d like that. Tommy, you in?”

“If it involves murder and crime you know I’m in,” Tommy said, mouth quirking in an eager grin.

“Well, that’s settled then. What time should we come by?”

“Hmm… well the office will be pretty busy until later,” Phil paused to check his wristwatch, “It’s just past 2 now… how about at 6 or 7? Whatever works better for you.”

“6 sounds fine. I think I just have some extra paperwork to finish but that shouldn’t take long. You can send me the address later, or can you pick us up?” Wilbur asked sheepishly. As much as he hated asking for it, it would probably be the most efficient mode of transport. Phil sighed, shaking his head in mock disappointment, his smile breaking the facade.

“Don’t get comfortable, Wil, I’m not your personal chauffeur,” Phil said, narrowing his eyes at Wilbur, smiling growing wider.

“I promise this is the last time,” Wilbur replied with the lie he was used to repeating, raising his hands defensively and giggling nervously.

The three walked out of the secluded room, going their separate ways and waving goodbye to one another. It was only a few hours away, but Wilbur was already shuddering with anticipation. Hopefully, and maybe with a little luck, they could get to the bottom of this tangled web.

* * *

_ They’re going to take him next. If I don’t do something soon or try to negotiate with them they’ll take him. They might kill him. God help me, why’d I have to get in this mess…  _

Schlatt bounced his leg up and down rapidly, practically banging his knee against the desk. He held his head in his hands, hiding his face and a clear expression of anxiety. What the hell could he do in this situation? Negotiating with them is a minefield, there's no guarantee what they could do to him. For all, he knows they could have a sniper aiming their gun at the back of his head right now. He exhaled shakily, glancing around his room nervously as thoughts raced in his head.

Tubbo flitted between the bookshelves that lined the rightmost wall of Schlatt’s office. He stood on his tip-toes, reaching for a particularly big book that he managed to get down with some effort. He walked over to Schlatt’s desk and gently placed the sizable pile of books down, huffing a breath of relief as he took the weight off of himself. 

“That should be all of them, sir. Is there anything else you would like for me to do?” Tubbo asked innocently. The kid was a ray of sunshine and everyone knew it; his mere presence brightened any room. Schlatt couldn’t bear to face him, so instead, he used his voice.

“No, that’s all you need to do for today, thank you for the help,” Schlatt said, “and Tubbo?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Could you excuse me for a while? I have a private business call I have to get on soon and I would prefer it if nobody was in the office during it.” Schlatt said, making an effort to keep his voice even.

“Of course. Should I head home, then?” Tubbo asked, gesturing to the door.

“No, just go up to Wilbur’s office and hang out there. I’ll come pick you up when I leave since I’ll be taking you home today.” 

“Oh-oh! Thank you sir, I really appreciate it,” Tubbo said, a smile growing on his face. He waved briefly before exiting the office. Schlatt listened to his retreating footsteps, the telltale clack of his loafers moving a little quicker than usual, and when they were far enough away Schlatt got up from his desk to lock the office door. He leaned his back against the cool, polished hardwood, exhaling loudly to himself. He felt himself starting to shake.

_ Pull yourself together, man, this isn’t you, _ Schlatt said to himself. He tried to no avail to regulate his breathing, continuing to let out shaky uneven breaths. At this rate, he was going to hyperventilate.

Almost on impulse, Schlatt reached out and swiped a bottle of whiskey from the bar he had on the left side of his office. Work tended to get stressful so he kept a few bottles of the stuff just in case. He popped the cap open and took a deep gulp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, relishing the burn of liquid courage as it moved down into his chest. Not a moment later, the phone rang. For some reason, Schlatt always had a way of distinguishing  _ that _ phone call from all the others. The shrill and monotone sound was somehow much more vicious, almost like a screech in the dead of night or a hiss of an angry cat, daring Schlatt to pick up and meet his fate. Schlatt took the phone in his hands, gripping the hard plastic until his knuckles went white and slowly bringing it up to his face. His arms were heavy, just lifting the line up to his ear was a herculean task, the weight of the impending call crippling his whole being. He had never felt so weak and puny as he did now: it was torture.

“Schlatt speaking,” he answered, putting on a brave face.

“Oh trust me, sir, I know who’s speaking,” the voice answered. Same coy attitude as before, it reminded Schlatt of a Cheshire cat. Just his luck to have to deal with someone such as this.

“Okay. What is it that you want this time?” Schlatt asked, voice neutral.

“Did I not make myself clear before? What I  _ want _ is the kid,” the voice said, snapping the last sentence, much like a growl. Definitely a Cheshire cat.

“I understood, but why? Not like you’ll tell me - and forgive me for being blunt - but it's pointless. The kid has no parents, only guardians, and they don’t have much in the way of money. You wouldn’t gain anything significant from this-”

“Are you not a guardian then, Schlatt?” the voice said, now deadpan and monotone, dropping several octaves. Schlatt reeled slightly, the statement knocking the wind out of him. In the strictest sense, he  _ was _ a guardian. By that same line of reasoning, that made him the prime target: the lamb being led to the slaughter. The silence was deafening.

“Good to know you’ve finally pieced it together. Well, if you don’t give us the boy, you could always pay upfront… but you know I can’t let you off  _ that _ easily,” the voice drawled. It made Schlatt feel sick to his stomach, he felt so pathetic and useless. All the power and presence he usually held in and outside the courtroom had been stripped from him: he had become the same pitiful bargaining fool as every other victim these sickos had got to. Even though he had no control, he had to stay strong, no way in hell was he going down to these rat-bastards without a fight.

“What else do you want, then?” Schlatt asked.

“We want  _ you _ to get Sapnap - Nick - out of jail  _ and _ to let us go off freely. We know that the police have been tailing us, trying to figure out who we are so they can convict us. They know a little too much for their own good, don’t you agree?” the voice taunts. Of course they would want to use Schlatt’s position against him, putting him in a moral dilemma. 

_ They’re doing all of this on purpose, just play your cards right, _ Schlatt thought to himself, taking a moment to think and process the situation logically. They wanted to get the kid, from what he knew they were going to use him as a hostage. They framed their conversations with him in a way that would make him believe he can trust their word purely out of fear, but he can’t fall into that trap; that trap is what got so many kids killed. They would use him as a hostage whether Schlatt wanted it or not, it didn’t matter to them. He’ll have to sate their appetites somehow for them to be complacent, otherwise that ticking time-bomb will blow up in his face.

“I do. How about this; I pay you the money, and then I’ll pay bail for Nick and coerce the police force to drop the case entirely. It won’t be easy because the head detective doesn’t give a damn what I think or say, so it may take a couple days,” Schlatt answered. He waited with bated breath for the caller to respond.

“Mm. Fine, that’s doable. I’ll be needing a couple hundred grand from you, and don’t worry about your reputation being tarnished, we’ll keep this deal completely under the table. So long as you get that sorry excuse of a police force away from us, that is.” the voice said, clearly deeming the conversation to be over.

“It’s a deal.”

“Good. We’ll call you back in a couple days, brace yourself…” the line went dead. Schlatt dropped the phone back into its slot and sank down onto the floor, propping himself up against the desk. His whole body trembled with adrenaline, breath coming in short, clipped huffs. He buried his face in his knees. God, he needed another drink… 

* * *

There was a knock on the door, prompting Wilbur to perk up from where he sat on the couch in the office foyer. He was in the middle of shoveling a rather large amount of lo mein noodles into his mouth with a pair of chopsticks, which put him in a rather awkward position. He bit off the noodles, letting the remains drop back into the small paper carton before moving to open the door. 

“Coming!” Wilbur said loudly. He approached the door at the end of the hallway and swung it open to find Tubbo on the other end, backpack slung over one shoulder and a few books tucked under his right arm. He beamed up at Wilbur, although the dark circles under his eyes told a different story.

“Oh, Tubbo! Do you need anything?” Wilbur asked. It was still rather early so Schlatt would still be in the building. He assumed that Tubbo came to the office as part of one of Schlatt’s errands; it was usually a miracle that he saw him outside of the prosecutor’s own office during a workday.

“Not in the usual sense. Schlatt sent me here to hang out for a while because he’s on an important private business call,” Tubbo said. Certainly not what Wilbur was expecting, but certainly not unwelcome.

“Ah I see, well that fine then. Come on in, Tommy’s in the front room, and don’t mind the mess, we just got lunch,” Wilbur said sheepishly, moving out of Tubbo’s way and closing the door behind him once he was inside.

“That’s fine! Is it alright if I have some?” Tubbo asked.

“By all means, we always end up with leftovers anyways,” Wilbur said, leading Tubbo into the foyer where he quickly got settled in next to Tommy on the couch, scanning the many cartons of chinese food scattered haphazardly on the coffee table. It was almost as if he couldn’t decide which option looked better until Tommy picked up a beef and broccoli box as well as a pair of chopsticks and placed them onto Tubbo’s lap. The two drifted into an easy silence, Tommy flicking between channels on the TV while Tubbo popped open the lid on his food, letting steam escape from the plastic tupperware, filling the room with the delicious scent of teriyaki beef. Wilbur lounged by the sidebar, taking a long sip from the can of green tea that came free with the order. It always came as a surprise to him how truly dehydrated he was; not like he would do anything about it until much later. Wilbur was broken out of his relaxed daze when Tommy exclaimed suddenly, half mumbling his words through a mouthful of noodles.

“Wi-buh, t-th TV! Look!” he said, finally swallowing his food. Wilbur took a seat on the couch beside Tubbo, putting on his glasses and leaning forward to get a better look. The three sat enraptured as a breaking news report began to play on screen.

“Breaking News! We have just received word that another set of kidnappings and subsequent murders have happened in and around Union Square. Authorities believe this to be linked to similar occurrences that have happened in the past few months. Our correspondent at the local police department is live with the head detective on the case,” the anchor said. The screen then transitioned to a live video feed, with Phil being questioned by the aforementioned reporter. Wibur’s eyes went wide, his body stiffening.

“We’ve been investigating these cases soon after the first few kidnappings occurred. We were alerted by first responders that the kids were forcefully taken to secluded areas, mainly abandoned warehouses or unfinished apartment complexes. We can’t share all of the details at the moment as we are sure that the perpetrators will be watching this report, but I assure you we are doing all that we can to track them and stop these heinous crimes from continuing,” Phil said. Wilbur noted the sweat forming on his brow as he talked; as someone in a head position, Phil had a lot of weight placed on him to deliver these felons to justice as soon as possible. Wilbur felt pained just watching the report. He quickly shut off the TV, not wanting to hear any comments the newscaster might say in response. He got up and lumbered grimly out of the room, but not before noting the expressions of worry on both Tommy and Tubbo’s faces.

Wilbur wasn’t a man prone to resorting to alcohol as an escape from reality: work seemed to fulfill that role just fine. Today, however, felt like a day that almost screamed for Wilbur to go and get hammered. His mind, which had been so relaxed just moments prior, now buzzed and swirled chaotically with about a million different thoughts, none of which he could quiet despite his best efforts. Sometimes he wished he could tranquilize his brain and slip into blissful oblivion for a few hours; the one fault of having the capacity to understand complex knowledge is how the body reacted to it.

He glanced at his cracked phone, busted and weathered from many years of usage. Wilbur looked at it, contemplating his next moves. He gently brushed the hard plastic exterior with his fingers, nails running over the gnarly cracks marring its surface. His eyes glazed over in reminiscence, his prior thoughts seeming to leap out of the window in favor for more wistful ones. The memories were bittersweet, but he didn’t mind it. Acting without thinking, he grasped the phone in his hand, opening it up and making a beeline for the contacts list. How convenient that the one he searched for was at the top of the list. He began typing.

_ Hey man, wanna go get drinks after work _

No response. Figures; the man was busy after all, he might still be in the middle of that private call. Wilbur smacked himself on the head, palm sliding down his face. How could he be so stupid as to forget that? Today really has started to get to him…

His phone chimed and without a second thought, he opened the text screen again.

_ fine, but why? It’s been ages since we’ve done that last _

_ because im stressed as hell and crave alcohol _

_ why would there be any other reason? _

_ alright I won’t press you on it _

_ meet me at the spot,  _ _ 8pm _ _ sharp  _

_ if not you’re on your own _


End file.
